


ends of the earth

by starseen



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Dark Knight Questline (Final Fantasy XIV) Spoilers, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 2.0: A Realm Reborn Spoilers, Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Patch 4.0: Stormblood Spoilers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Prompt Fill, im SO sorry actually, only until 70
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseen/pseuds/starseen
Summary: a collection of short stories for n'elah using the 30 day wol prompts, from gatheredfates @ tumblr. will update warnings as i go, and there is no regular release schedule because i'm a disaster
Relationships: Ysayle Dangoulain/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 15





	1. contents

decided to have individual tags for chapters, as some will spoil more than others, so they're as accessible as they can be! and of course, any content warnings as well

  1. contents. you are here :)
  2. omen. pre-arr, no spoilers
  3. unspoken. during arr msq, no spoilers
  4. break. during shb msq, spoilers for 5.0
  5. whimsy. ambiguous/around shb, spoilers for 5.0
  6. sacrifice. during sb msq, spoilers for 4.0
  7. shattered. post-arr (crystal tower raids), no spoilers
  8. tomorrow. during hw msq, spoilers for 2.55
  9. confrontation. post-sb, spoilers for 4.5 and everything prior. spoilers for drk quests up to 70.
  10. infinity. pre-hw, spoilers for 2.55
  11. sacred. during arr msq, no spoilers
  12. pillow. during hw msq
  13. keep. during post-sb but no spoilers for msq! spoilers for drk quests up to 50, featuring npcs from 50-60.




	2. omen

Light of inconceivable strength surrounds her, choking, burning through even her closed eyes and setting her skin alight. She fights against the bonds but her limbs do not obey, unfeeling save for the sting of overwhelming power. A voice—rich, omnipresent—calls to her through the haze. Nothing and everything, all at once.

And then her vision clears.

The world is gone. She stands alone in a vast expanse, surrounded once more, but this time she _feels_. There are falling stars, endless, pouring from a great rift in the sky. It’s almost like the great storms over the Gyr Abanian highlands, churning and crackling, the sensation of great energy moving within felt by all. But this is different—this is familiar, this is something she has never seen and something she knows all too well.

She is unable to look away. A deep, hollow sadness fills her as she watches, as the voice returns, calling to her with words she does not know. The world dissolves into darkness.

...

“-ah? … Elah? Elah!”

The last thing N’elah remembers is falling.

“Where’s Asta?” she barks, sitting up with a jolt. She winces—when did she get injured? Where was she, anyway-

“Trust you to worry about the bird,” N’zurzha says. She crouches next to N’elah—next to the bed. So there’s beds here. Proper ones.

N’yheke appears in her vision. He carries something, but N’elah cannot identify it. “Before you ask, we’re safe here,” he reassures her, having read her face. “We’re at the Reach.”

N’elah grimaces again, finding another sore spot as she shifts position. “What the hell happened?”

“Wish I knew,” N’zurzha snorts. “You just… slipped. Dunno why. Do you remember anything?”

“One minute I was on Asta, the next, I…”

N’zurzha frowns. “What-”

“Stop pestering her and go find Ehira!” N’yheke grumbles. He is tense, tail lashing, and N’elah has never seen him like this before. N’zurzha pouts and scurries out of sight. N’yheke places the package beside the bed and turns to follow.

“Wait, Yheke.”

He pauses.

“I saw something.”

“You… saw something?” N’yheke echoes. He doesn’t understand her meaning, evidently.

“When I was falling. I think. I don’t know. I saw… stars.”

“Stars.”

“Falling stars.”

N’yheke looks away. He strokes his chin, ears twitching, and N’elah fiddles with her sheets. “It’s a sign,” she says. N’yheke nods in agreement, then meets her eyes with a smile.

“Perhaps,” he replies. “But never mind that, alright? You could’ve been seriously hurt. Take those herbs and rest up.” He gently pats her shoulder and adds, “You’ll need the energy for when your mother gets here.”

N’elah lets out a short laugh, placing her hand over his for a moment. “I’ll try, Yheke.”


	3. unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a., "god dammit thancred"

Vesper Bay is peaceful at night. N’elah has always struggled to cope with the constant activity of the city-states, but here, even in a trading port, there is some respite. She sits out on the pier overlooking the Rhotano; it is early morning, and the moon sits just past the sky’s zenith, casting her glow to the gently-churning waters.

It isn’t strange for N’elah to have disturbed sleep. _Disturbed_ being a strong word—her family always slept light and travelled lighter, and having stayed at the Waking Sands for a week now, she can feel herself becoming restless. Night walks like these are a regular occurrence, much to Tataru’s suspicion—the Lalafell has spent countless tea breaks pestering N’elah for non-existent gossip, for nothing but the juiciest secrets could keep the Warrior of Light awake like this. N’elah almost feels bad for not knowing anything that would amuse her friend.

It’s strange to think about the Scions, and how far they’ve all come in the past few months. It seems to N’elah like years have passed since she first met Yda and Papalymo under the green of the Shroud. Back when Primals were a secret, when the Mother was faint and distant. But now Her voice is clear—and so, too, is the guidance of her new family.

While Thanalan is comfortable in the daylight, the night brings a familiar chill. The Rhotano’s breath brings goosebumps to N’elah’s bare skin. She clutches her arms, shuffling to her feet and making her way back to the Waking Sands.

Meeting fellow Scions this late is to be expected; Y’shtola and Urianger, in particular, could be counted on to forget the passage of time. But tonight she crosses paths with the Antecedent, empty teacup still steaming in her hands. N’elah’s appearance seems to break through Minfilia’s thoughts and she blinks in surprise.

“Feeling alright?”

N’elah nods, offering a smile. Minfilia seems satisfied with this and turns to face her properly. “My friend, you should rest,” she says.

“As should you,” N’elah counters. “How long have you been awake?”

Minfilia frowns in thought, and that tells all. She is visibly flagging, eyes heavy even through her cheerful demeanour. “Well,” she murmurs, “perhaps too long. I _was_ on my way to my quarters. But I’m glad to have seen you.”

N’elah opens her mouth to respond, but she freezes—somewhere down the hall, a door clicks shut. N’elah’s ears twitch in response as she catches the faintest of footsteps nearing their position. Only two people are that good at sneaking around, and only one would strategically take the path avoiding the shared study, lest he disturb the late-night readings of his peers.

Thancred.

Sure enough, Thancred’s face appears from around the corner, with naught but a towel for his modesty. He halts like a startled antelope upon meeting N’elah’s gaze. She swears some colour drains from his face.

N’elah decides to do him a favour.

“You look tired,” N’elah says to Minfilia, whose eyes drift upwards from her empty cup. N’elah reaches out for it. “I can take that to the kitchens.”

“Ah, thank you,” Minfilia replies, seeming to have forgotten she was even holding it. She really is exhausted, and while N’elah wishes she would take care of herself, at least her lack of awareness means Thancred can be saved embarrassment. This time, at least. “What was it you were saying?”

“It’s nothing important, really,” N’elah reassures her. “Please, don’t let me keep you.”

Minfilia and N’elah bid each other a good night, and the former slips down the corridor, heading away (thankfully) from a very apprehensive Thancred. N’elah passes him with Minfilia’s cup in her hand. Whatever the hell just happened, she doesn’t want to know about it.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Don’t mention it,” N’elah replies. “Really. Don’t mention it.”


	4. break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you spot the double meanings yet
> 
> also just wanna add pronouns will change every so often, n'elah uses he/she/they

Time slows—a claw skims past N’elah’s face, but they duck and parry with the pole of their lance. A twist of foot sends them spinning into the beast and the momentum drives in the bladed end. A shriek, a burst of light, and it disappears into thin air.

And so it begins again. Duck, parry, thrust, the dance well-established in N’elah’s psyche. Their face is steel as they swerve past the Exarch, his own blade coming down upon a charging eater. Between his surefooted swings and N’elah’s agility, the remaining sin eaters could not focus a target and descended into chaos, and then into dust. All except one—the remains of a bear, petrified to marble, twisted horns and hollow eyes. It rears, ready to crush anything beneath its paws.

Something shatters.

N’elah gasps. They can barely feel themselves hit the ground and everything is blinding white. And then, as soon as it began, it fades.

“N’elah?”

The sin eater’s corpse did not linger, the remaining particles drifting up through lavender boughs. N’elah attempts to stand but if the gentle pressure on their shoulder did not stop them, their shaking limbs certainly did. They tense and the Exarch jerks his hand away apologetically.

“I’m-” Another jolt, but without the pain. “I’m fine.”

The Exarch certainly knows how to pick his words—and his actions—after lifetimes of acting a leader. “My friend,” he says softly, “I don’t think that’s true.”

N’elah offers him a weak grin before sitting back on their haunches. Their tail twitches and dances, betraying their unrest in a most inconvenient way. The Exarch’s sword and shield dissolve and he takes a seat next to them.

“We’re calling an amaro to take you back,” he says. N’elah frowns at him, but he simply smiles in response. “Please, take care of yourself. You’ve done more than enough for us today.”

N’elah would disagree; they had been on one patrol and escorted the Exarch to Radisca’s Round and back, but they know he won’t take no for an answer, and they aren’t about to try it. So they nod, and smile, and the Exarch retrieves his staff.

“May I see to your wounds?”

N’elah raises an eyebrow, confused, before they feel the sensation returning to their fingers. It creeps in from the borders, and sure enough, the burning of injury waits for them. They nod, and the Exarch quietly gets to work.


	5. whimsy

“Oh, please! It’s only fair!”

The little blue pixie balances on Alisaie’s shoulder, and she glares at them with ferocity rivalling the local rosebears. The pixie, however, seems unfazed, and continues to tug on her hair and ears.

“I’m not spending another minute in this gods-forsaken hellscape,” Alisaie hisses.

“Speaking thus of the Fae homeland is ill-advised, my lady,” Urianger warns, though he seems incredibly amused by the situation.

The Scions had once again ventured into Il Mheg intending to track down a stranded sin eater. N’elah did not pretend to understand the conversation, but Y’shtola had informed them later that the creature possessed some interesting properties, including heightened sentience despite its weak nature. And so it fell to the Warrior of Light to aid the scholars of their group in studying their quarry.

However, the locals seem keen to keep the Scions occupied. The Fae are rather fond of them all by now—particularly Alphinaud and Alisaie, who are ill-equipped to dissuade their new admirers. “You owe us!” the blue pixie sings, making their way to Alphinaud and perching on his head. “We grant you safe passage here, that means you _must_ stay for tea sometime, yes?”

Another pixie—a familiar one this time, by the name of Sul Uin—appears from behind N’elah’s shoulder. They lean over, head propped on their tiny hands. “You wouldn’t dishonour our customs, now, would you?” they say, throwing in a pout for good measure.

“Of course not,” N’elah begins carefully, “but-”

“Away, all of you! Shoo, shoo!”

The pixies bolt and scatter, giggling as they go. The booming voice settles into a gentle croon as its owner descends from… somewhere above. Had they been watching the whole time?

“Feo Ul- _Titania_ ,” N’elah corrects themselves, offering a smile and a bowed head.

“Ah, my darling little sapling!” Feo Ul chirps, lowering themselves to gently ruffle N’elah’s hair. “What brings you to Il Mheg?”

“Would that it were simply for pleasure,” Thancred sighs. “We’re hunting a sin eater.”

“A sin eater?” Feo Ul echoes, thumb and finger on their chin. “There was a nasty old beast north of here…”

“Excellent. Shall we?”

The Scions make to leave, each giving a quick farewell to the faerie king. “You won’t stay for a while?” Feo Ul says as N’elah raises an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry, Feo Ul,” they reply. “I have to go. I’ll bring you back something from the Source?”

Feo Ul frowns, the puppy-eyes look having lost its effect long ago. “I suppose that will suffice. Your beautiful branch awaits tribute!” And with a final twirl, the king disappears into the shimmering air.

“You have a way with these people,” Y’shtola says quietly to N’elah as they begin their hike through the flowering hills.

“Lest you forget, my cousins were the biggest troublemakers in Gyr Abania,” N’elah replies. “Had to keep up with them somehow.”


	6. sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry in advance if this is kinda weirdly written <3 im trying my best

The door clatters open, and N’elah peers nervously into the dark.

Lyse stands before him. It’s late; N’elah isn’t sure how late, exactly, but Lyse isn’t one to keep an irregular sleep schedule. It’s then that he notices her eyes—downcast, slightly red. Her shoulders are tense and her hands are balled into fists.

“Can I come in?” she manages to ask. Her voice is strained.

N’elah moves aside and Lyse takes a few steps into his room. When she stops, N’elah gently takes her hands and leads her over to the small cot. They sit down, close, and N’elah can feel Lyse fidgeting.

“I’m sorry, I-” Lyse runs a hand through her hair as she pauses, briefly. “I know it’s late but everyone else was asleep and I… I don’t know, I just couldn’t be alone.”

They sit in silence as N’elah lets Lyse gather her thoughts. Her breaths grow more ragged, and N’elah rests his head against Lyse’s shaking shoulders. Lyse sometimes comes to him like this—wound up and lonely, looking for a distraction or a friendly face. Her role is becoming more tiring by the day. There is always something wrong, some decision to make, and N’elah knows how it feels to be thrust into the spotlight. Maybe that’s why Lyse seeks him out; he has spent the past two and a half years under that weight. He understands her position better than most.

When Lyse seems calm again, she breathes deeply and continues.

“It’s Papalymo.”

N’elah feels the blow. He closes his eyes. “I know.”

“I know it’s not fair to assume you’re coping, but really, I don’t understand how you keep going,” Lyse says with a weak chuckle. “I feel like I’m falling apart. I think I really _am_ falling apart.”

“If you’re asking me how to grieve, you’ve come to the wrong person,” N’elah says. “I’m still… working on that. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out.”

Lyse lays a hand on N’elah’s and leans into him. “You’re here, though,” she replies. “So thank you. For being here. Listening to me.”

N’elah feels his chest swell. He moves only to unclasp his necklace—the one he keeps beneath his armour—and he tugs it gently into his palm. The lack of its weight around his neck is strange.

“Gods,” Lyse whispers. “That’s—”

“Papalymo,” N’elah responds. He takes his other hand from Lyse’s, gently spreading the charms out for display. “I made this while we were in Ishgard.”

On his palm lie four pendants. The first is a tiny dagger, carved from wood. It resembles the one N’elah was given what seems like lifetimes ago now. “I… I made this for Minfilia,” he explains. “She gave me a real dagger, a long time ago, and… that gave me the idea.”

“This—” and he points to the next, “—is for Haurchefant.” It is a resin medallion, and within lies a pure white rosebud.

“I never met him,” Lyse says. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

N’elah does not respond. He can feel his throat refusing him, and instead leans back against Lyse, as if making to fall asleep on her shoulder. He pulls the next charm over; this one is a crystal, pale blue, casting rainbows where it catches the light of the moon. Lyse seems to know even before N’elah can speak. “Ysayle?”

N’elah nods weakly; his voice is hoarse now. “She left this with me,” he says, and says nothing more. It wasn’t the time.

The final charm is what N’elah wants Lyse to see. It is a small piece of meteorite, with a hole tapped through so it can sit on the cord. “I remember when Papalymo gave you that,” Lyse says softly. “He found it in Carteneau...”

N’elah nods again. He passes the necklace into Lyse’s hands to free his own.

‘They gave themselves for our cause,’ he signs, not meeting Lyse’s gaze. ‘So I want them to be with us until the end.’

Lyse smiles through the welling tears, laughing despite her heart’s pain. “They will be,” she says. “We’ll remember them all. We’ll make them proud.”


	7. shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took so long and idk if im happy with it but it's funny so here goes

“I assure you, this is perfectly safe!”

G’raha is balanced atop a broken pillar, holding a notebook in his teeth and fiddling with some dials that are almost out of his reach. His tail sways wildly in a bid to stabilize his body and N’elah looks on with slightly-clenched teeth.

“Do you need a hand…?”

“I’ve got it!” he calls before almost, _almost,_ taking a tumble. N’elah sighs.

It has been a month since their encounter in the Shroud. N’elah knows that by now, surely, she should be used to his antics—but G’raha seems to be have copious amounts of both energy _and_ horrible ideas. It bewilders N’elah how Rammbroes seems to keep up with him at all; one minute without her eyes on him and he’s already elbows-deep in his next wild scheme. To say she isn’t somewhat impressed is a blatant lie—his sheer determination and wide knowledge of history is second to a select few—but gods, if he isn’t _infuriating._

So, really, it should be no surprise to N’elah when he careens off the pillar and into something hidden in the shadows. She doesn’t have to see it to know it’s broken, because it announces its presence with a loud _SMASH_.

“I’m okay!”

_Gods be good._

G’raha stumbles out of the darkness, intact but slightly flustered—and a bit more dusty than before. “Right, well, I got the readings,” he says, evidently trying to shift the spotlight. “We should report to Rammbroes.”

N’elah nods firmly and takes the lead. G’raha falls into step beside her, juggling several sheafs of parchment and some sort of meter. “Are you sure that wasn’t something important?” she asks, and he pauses.

“Well, if it were, something would’ve happened by now. You’ve learned by now how vigilant the tower’s security system is.”

Well. He wasn’t wrong. “Come on then,” N’elah grumbles, and walks on in silence. But her hand lies ready to draw her halberd and her ears stand forward, ready to react at the slightest provocation. G’raha, in contrast, seems painfully relaxed—he is humming very softly to himself as he sorts through his papers again.

The lights in the hall shut down, leaving them with naught but the gloomy crystal glow.

“Oh.” G’raha sounds almost unsurprised.

A piercing noise rings through the dark. An alarum.

“ _Oh._ ”

“We should move,” N’elah says. Her eyes adjust swiftly to the lack of light— _thank the Twelve we both can see shadows,_ she thinks—and she reaches for G’raha’s shoulder. He stumbles forward, and she just about manages to catch him before he crashes into the opposite wall. As they sprint around a corner, a mechanical clunk echoes through the corridor behind them.

“So it was important, then,” G’raha yells over the noise. It’s rattling now, a clear imitation of footsteps—and whatever it is, it’s getting closer.

N’elah keeps her eyes forward and picks up the pace. “I didn’t need you to tell me that!”

After another short minute of navigating the aptly-named labyrinth, N’elah spots a crevice and fair launches G’raha into it with one arm. She slips in after him and just as her tail tucks behind her, a huge construct of some sort begins prowling towards them.

G’raha presses a finger to his lips. N’elah covers her mouth, and holds her tail in close.

For a painful moment, the construct lingers in front of the crack. The two tense as it turns toward them. But instead of reaching out, it shuffles back the way it came, and once the crash of its footsteps fade away, G’raha releases his held breath.

N’elah shuffles out of the crevice and pats away the dust on her clothes. G’raha follows, and for some inexplicable reason, he seems to have enjoyed the whole ordeal. He’s smiling, the kind of smile he does when he’s up to something, like a child who stole something sweet.

“You are… incredible,” N’elah sighs.

G’raha tilts his head. His ears twitch, and N’elah bites back a grin. “Thank you?”

Turning from him, she spies the camp just ahead and begins to clamber out of the tower’s rubble. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

G’raha’s smile disappears, replaced by quite the withering gaze. N’elah almost feels bad... almost.


	8. tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is longer, and also it took longer, and also im not v confident but im trying. hope u enjoy <3

In the quiet, lonely hours; in times of tension; habit prevails above all else. That was what had lead N’elah to the edge of the forest.

Alphinaud had long since withdrawn, and Estinien had taken himself someplace. Nobody ever asked where; it was just as likely that he’d tell them as rivers would flow toward the sky. They’d all come to learn there are many secrets between them, and it was like to stay that way.

But Ysayle—what a mystery she thinks herself to be, N’elah ponders. Though they have just begun to know each other, N’elah feels a sense of kinship with the infamous Iceheart. They both are private, quiet people, taking pleasure in the simple things. Perhaps they bonded a little over their shared frustrations—namely Estinien, who has taken to avoiding the pair, like a lone wolf among a herd. And perhaps, N’elah thinks, he can understand her position; the idolatry consumes and shapes without warning. Such is the lot of those children of Hydaelyn, as a certain Scion may have mused.

There was a time where N’elah thought the Scions dangerous—assassins with gentle smiles and honeyed words. He had regarded their messengers as he did those Garlean spies in his homeland, their Antecedent as if she were the emperor at his doorstep. But that couldn’t be further from the truth; in the year they’d spent together, the Scions had become a source of great comfort. Each had their own merits, their own kindness, and N’elah was welcomed as though he’d known them all his life.

When the worst came, they stood by his side, despite the expectations thrust upon his shoulders. Each one refused to let him make it alone; whether the day was lost or won, they were always behind him. Just like Minfilia wished, they were—they _are—_ a family.

He wonders, just for a moment, if he’d ever see them again.

“N’elah?”

Just behind, a quiet voice reaches him. N’elah freezes, as though Ysayle could hear his thoughts. He’d not heard her approach—what time was it? Where was Estinien? Was Alphinaud asleep? What—

“N’elah.”

“Hm?” N’elah looks up to meet a clear gaze. Ysayle folds her arms, and the faintest smile creeps onto her face. He feels as though he is transparent, a moth mounted on a board.

“It’s late,” Ysayle says, more of a reminder than anything. N’elah looks up to see that the moon hangs just below the sky’s zenith. _It’s morning, then,_ he thinks. 

He clears his throat.  “ I woke not long ago.”

“May I sit?” Ysayle asks, and N’elah nods in response. He does not move from his position—knees bunched under his chin, arms clutching themselves, and overall not enjoying the colder climate surrounding Coerthas and Dravania. Ysayle, now delicately folding her legs underneath her, seems utterly unfazed.

“You have something on your mind.”

Of course she’d notice. Those eyes are ever watchful, seeing that which most would not. N’elah still wasn’t used to it, the kind of clear vision of him that came only to Y’shtola previously. It was not unpleasant—neither Y’shtola nor Ysayle had ever made it so. But after so long in silence, it was strange to be _seen._

N’elah looks away, ears low and tail twitching. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”

“Come, now,” Ysayle says gently, and N’elah feels his chest tighten. “I would not ask if I did not care.”

N’elah’s eyes find the stars. He tightens his grip on himself, worrying his lip with his teeth so that he can taste iron on his tongue.

“I just can’t help but think,” he murmurs, “that I could have saved my friends in Ul’dah.”

Ysayle still gazes in his direction. He dares to glance back, and finds her searching with those damned eyes of hers, searching for something that N’elah does not understand. She frowns, tilts her head to the side. The little moonlight that reaches them catches on her hair, strands of silk dappled with the canopy’s shadows. A question hangs between the two— but this time,  Ysayle looks away.  She takes a breath, and releases the tension.

“I have thought the same more times than I can count,” she says. “But I always return.”

“How?”

The smile N’elah earns is bitter; it is tainted with grief, and for the first time, N’elah feels real, tangible vulnerability from Ysayle. Their conversations before, they were shielded, guarded—but this is true sorrow, not weaponized, and N’elah feels as though he is intruding on sacred ground.

“We can never undo the decisions we make, no matter how much we wish to,” Ysayle replies. “And you underestimate the scheme—was it not a veritable army that conspired against you? Could one person have stopped them?”

“You’re right,” N’elah says then. His tail curls around his ankles as he seems to sink further into the earth. “It’s just… hard to remember.”

“Then I shall just have to remind you.” Ysayle's expression is solemn, but the warmth in her eyes has returned. “You are not infallible. You must keep moving forward, N’elah.”

Minfilia returns to him then—her voice wavers with intensity and guilt, but her words are firm. _Live, and carry our light home_. N’elah would never forget her last message; it guided him in his darkest hours. As much as he was the beacon of hope, Minfilia was the spark that kept him alight. He wishes he hadn’t left so much unsaid.

“I must,” he says. He can feel his words leaving him, but he finds it in him to continue. “Thank you, Ysayle.”

“No need.” She turns to view what little stars shine through the canopy. She appears as a statue, a monument, still and serene. Silver and white gleam in the thin moonlight and N’elah once again feels as though he’s staring; he follows her eyes heavensward, the stars in their same rotations giving him a sense of stability.

Though the forest is silent save for a lone owl’s cry, N’elah feels more at home than ever.


	9. confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i didnt read this over at all this is my first draft anyways ;)

“ _Disappointing_.”

N’elah kneels in the blackened dirt. She clings to her lance like a cane. Her vision is clouded, her enemy’s silhouette just visible through the thick, brown smoke. He approaches as casually as if he were anywhere else in the world, and no longer surrounded by gunfire, blades, and death.

But _this_ is his home—Zenos finds silence disturbing, more at home in chaos. And he demonstrates this, wielding his sword with ease not only borne of skill, but of comfort. Their self-made arena is still and the cacophony of war seems malms away now.

“Hero,” he says, “this must be exciting. On the edge of death’s blade…”

She knows his game. N’elah bares her teeth, pulling herself to her feet despite her limbs shaking with exertion. “Get back.”

And Zenos laughs, sword hanging low by his side as he continues, one foot in front of another. “An underwhelming show, but at least you fight back.” Those footsteps echo, the only sound in the world—a steadily approaching heartbeat that never falters.

N’elah closes her eyes.

“Get _back_.”

This time, there is no response. There is only the soft crunch of ash underfoot, the clatter of armour, and N’elah finally feels the anticipation. She has never feared confrontation; death has always been at her shoulder, she knows, and if it were to catch her, it would be over in the blink of an eye. But this—the _waiting_ , waiting for Zenos to stop toying with her like a cat with a mouse—the fear creeps in while the seconds tick by.

And she can do nothing. She is finally spent, alone with a man who should not be standing, should not be living—but neither should she, she supposes. It’s only fair that one day, the Warrior of Light should meet her match. After years of missed chances, it’s only fair that she pay with her life for those she could not save.

She thinks of them then—Minfilia, the Scions’ heart, and of Moenbryda. She thinks of Haurchefant, and dear Ysayle. She remembers Papalymo’s sacrifice, still fresh in her mind’s eye.

She thinks of Myste, and of Fray.

When Zenos brings down his blade, it slows, finding resistance in the air. But still it comes—and N’elah feels the sting just before darkness takes her.

...

“What was the last thing I said to you?”

A voice. _Her_ voice. Not her _own_ , of course, but it’s been there just as long as she.

N’elah moves. She flexes her fingers, shakes her legs. She’s here and whole, at least physically. Mentally, emotionally—who can say? “Fray?”

“Who else?” Fray replies. Her eyes burn through the dark. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“I need only ask.”

“Yes.” Fray steps forward, and though N’elah cannot see her clearly, she can feel her; a vicious magnetic field. A hand touches her scarred cheek. “And you didn’t. But here I am anyway. Must I do everything around here? Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to take control?”

“Thank you, Fray,” N’elah says quietly, “but I think I can take it from here.”

Fray’s gaze is unrelenting—N’elah feels it like a physical blow. She clicks her tongue, intensely disapproving, and the hand vanishes. “Sure,” she replies.

The void they met in brightens. N’elah sways, suddenly disoriented and weak. Fray is melting away before her eyes, like a shadow at dawn.

“Better wake up, hero,” she says with a grin. “See you next time.”


	10. infinity

Coerthas, as ever, is cold as cold could be.

Though the remaining Scions make their way in daylight, it is low and gloomy, more akin to dusk. The path is scarcely visible just two steps ahead and it is strewn with thick, crumbling ice. And creatures lurk beyond the blizzard-fog—N’elah advances with her hand glued to her lance and her ears high. Everything, from the biting wind to the very ground itself, seems determined to keep them out.

They know not where they are headed; N’elah had lost track long ago. Visibility is poor, and while N’elah and Alphinaud’s hearing is keen, the rush of the storm is impregnable. Nothing lies ahead, and behind them are only fast-fading tracks. Nothing waits for them except the eternal winter; what else is there in Coerthas?

“Oh, _sod_ _it all_ _!_ ” Tataru cries.

N’elah rushes back a few feet, noting that even in close proximity, Tataru’s figure is severely obscured. She lies in a drift hiding a dip in the ground. N’elah holds out a hand, and Tataru takes it, stepping gingerly out of the rut. When she meets N’elah’s eyes, they are glassy with tears.

“Let’s keep moving,” she says. She looks away, and rubs at her windbitten face. “We have to be close by now.”

“At this rate,” Alphinaud replies, “we’ll reach some manner of civilisation before sundown.”

N’elah narrows her eyes. “At this rate, we’ll get ourselves killed. We need to find shelter.”

“You can protect yourself, and so can I—”

“ _No,_ Alphinaud.” N’elah almost winces at her own voice; it is far harsher than she intended. “You can’t this time.”

Alphinaud’s shoulders tense, and he looks away.

“I’m not a _child—_ ”

“You’re barely seventeen, Alphinaud, tell me how that’s any different!”

The air changes between them, then.

N’elah recoils. Her ears lie flat, and she chews her lip so viciously she tastes iron. Nothing, _nothing_ is coming out right, what in the seven hells was she thinking? And then he sighs, and resumes his trek.

It is unlike Alphinaud to leave things alone. From that she knows she’d crossed a line. But the line is so _easy_ with him, the line is letting him learn lessons and stopping him from doing something reckless—but is she hard on him? Is she wrong about him?

How would _she_ know, the self-sacrificing warrior of light?

“Alphinaud,” she says, softly.

He does not answer.

“He’s alright,” Tataru reassures her. Whether she’s right or not, N’elah still feels the guilt knot her stomach. “He needs space—and rest. As do we.”

Everything is gone, now—including their footsteps only ilms behind. No trace of them will remain here within the hour. In the vast, white landscape they stand in, it is easy to believe they are the only people left on this star.

Tataru squeezes N’elah’s hand. “I’ll talk to him.”

N’elah, still lost in thought, nods numbly. They are still here, the three of them, together. But the emptiness within her is seemingly endless, and raw from the chill.

She tries to remember Minfilia’s voice and her hope for their future. She closes her eyes, and nurses the last light she has left.


	11. sacred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS KINDA SHIT AGAIN BUT .. have some soft filler

“And that,” Y’shtola says, making a gesture to her left, “is the Spear of Halone.”

The part of the sky she’d pointed to is familiar to N’elah, as was the rest. The stars are key to their navigational skills; reading them is both an art and a science, taught by their mother and the other women of the tribe. “The Spear,” N’elah echoes. “We’d call that the Serpent—more or less, anyway.”

“I suppose it has a similar meaning?”

N’elah draws their knees closer to their chest. “Not exactly.” It was a tale they’d heard on countless nights at home. They vividly remember the first time—their uncle and their multitudes of cousins, huddled around their campfire, listening fervently with tipped ears poised. Y’shtola sits much like this now, and N’elah almost laughs.

“The serpent has venom, and believes it is destined to bite because of this,” N’elah explains quietly. “But the serpent is aware and in control—the only way for it to bite is for it to choose to or be forced to.”

Y’shtola frowns, her sea-green eyes narrowed in thought. It doesn’t take her long to figure it out—not that N’elah thought it would. “One is not locked into one’s fate. Our actions are our own, whether we like it or not.”

“Precisely.” N’elah smiles softly, and it is returned with equal warmth. Y’shtola quickly turns her eyes to the stars again. Their light reflects in them, setting them aglow, and N’elah realises this may be the most she’s ever looked _peaceful_. They’d never consider Y’shtola a particularly highly-strung individual; she is ever the calm voice of reason, laid-back and confident, almost effortless. But not once has she appeared to relax, to let down that veil of professionalism for the sake of respite. And, N’elah supposes, they’re also more open around her. The thought makes something in their chest flood with heat.

“Sharlayan astrology has ever fascinated me,” N’elah proclaims. They raise their gaze to match Y’shtola, dancing over the constellations she’d talked about mere minutes before. “Our star-readings, they’re for navigation.”

“A form of divination, is it not?”

“That’s true,” N'elah says lightly. “It’s a tool, but also a ritual. Oschon guides us through those stars, and we trust Him to take us to safety. That is why we’d relocate often.”

Y’shtola’s eyes are lit not with starlight now, but with mirth. “Old habits die hard, my friend. You’re twitching as we speak.”

“Gods, you’re insufferable,” N’elah grumbles, and they get up to pace the balcony. Y’shtola’s twinkling laugh drifts through the fresh night air, and soon they find themselves staring at an aurum dawn. The stars vanish into daylight heralded by joyous birdsong. There are no remnants of the night, save for the coat of dew upon the wild grasses of Thanalan, and the simple words shared between them.

“We’d best head in,” Y’shtola says. Goosebumps plague her bared forearms, and her tail seems distinctly fluffier. N’elah swings their pack over their shoulder and stifles perhaps the biggest yawn of their life. 

“Right you are. Good morning, Y’shtola.”

“Good morning, N’elah. Rest well.”


	12. pillow

N’elah stirs silently. Her eyes are heavy—in fact, everything is heavy, like moving through deep water. She has been exhausted for so long now. It takes a special kind of effort to rouse herself enough to think. Where was she?

Still where she fell asleep— _good,_ she thinks. Tension falls from her spine.

Birdsong greets her from somewhere distant, and she can only faintly acknowledge it as she stretches out her limbs. She can see a faint golden glow from under her sheets; with a grunt of displeasure, she shimmies further into her cocoon, wrinkling her nose and squeezing her eyes shut once more.

She is a morning person at heart, whether by choice, habit, or worse. N’elah rose early most days, used to the dawn movements of her home tribe. And that was to say nothing of her sensitivity—even the birds could wake her, so light was her sleep. But in recent weeks, the nightly cold had forced her into hibernation, a sluggish haze that refused to release its grip even when morning came.

Whatever hell her soul was sold to, N’elah prays it’s at least _temperate_.

N’elah hugs her knees and wills herself back to sleep. Instead, she hangs in an in-between limbo. She feels almost weightless here, and she decides that’s alright with her; she wants to savour this calm before the storm.

The bedroll shifts and N’elah freezes against her will. She relaxes once more, though, when a hand runs through her hair.

“Good morning,” Ysayle says softly.

“Mmph,” N’elah replies.

She turns without opening her eyes and roughly buries her face into Ysayle, colliding with her chest. She can feel the vibrations of Ysayle’s laugh, then, and she smiles.

“You _are_ awake, aren’t you?”

N’elah snorts. “No. Later.”

Ysayle curls around her in response. “Alright,” she murmurs. “Have it your way.” And she toys with the fine, curled hair at the back of N’elah’s neck, and N’elah can feel it shudder through her spine.

It is so _warm_ now. Ysayle’s breath catches on her ears at half-mast and N’elah’s tail is draped over her waist, points of connection that make N’elah feel something pull at her chest. She’d ever been a devout person—but were she any different, she’d certainly believe this was a gods-given moment of peace.

Among the chaos of the days past, she’d felt a creeping unease—a sense that danger approached. And while she knew she’d have to face it someday, N’elah thanked whoever would listen for time to just _be_ , to set down the weight of the world and _rest_. Twice lucky was she for having somebody who felt the same.

“You,” she says, face still pressed against Ysayle’s abdomen.

“Mm?”

“Just you.” N’elah turns to kiss the hand at her neck, and holds Ysayle tighter.


	13. keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god it's been so long. but i did warn you!!!!! also i have an ffxiv twitter now if i didnt mention it. it's @DRAVANlA (@dravanLa) <3

I never _knew_ him, you know. Sidurgu.

I told you this—was it months ago, now? Years? That day on the snow-flooded fields. We remember it well, don’t we? Red on white, blood that faded come morn, because it—because _I—_ was never really here. So, of course, I never knew the bastard.

I’m sorry. But that’s a discussion for another time.

Sid and you are so similar. So _stoic_ , sitting on the edge of the island you’ve set up camp on, a respectable distance between you. Rielle had taken herself elsewhere, accompanied by a small band of moogles, and though Sid objected to their very existence, he’s stayed behind. You think he’s realised that Rielle needs some space.

You both stare out into the pale gold abyss. It’s a beautiful day, way above the rest of the world. The Sea of Clouds was never somewhere you’d thought you’d ever go, let alone _twice_ in a lifetime. You thought you’d seen the upper edge of the world in Gyr Abania—the mountains, and your home, were so tall that you could see through Coerthas and the Twelveswood. Humanity had conquered the lower skies with airships in the past few years, but nothing could compare to _this._

You wonder, then, about the old world, the builders of the ruins scattered before you like bones. Had they known this place before they’d reached it? Their Dravanian companions had likely been here before, and they offered it as a gift to those Elezen looking for a home. To be so betrayed in the way they had… the voice of Nidhogg, just one of many within your mind, suddenly seems a little calmer.

So many of them now. The fearsome Nidhogg, prevailing though his body yet lies still. Yours truly, of course. And then the Mother, the first—and the quietest. Her relative silence has concerned you for some time.

Sidurgu shifts next to you. He seems more restless than he was a moment ago. You wonder absently as you listen to his movements, ears twitching the only sign you are still present in the moment. He is no devout individual—but is it possible to deny a voice as clear as Hydaelyn’s? Is she as obvious to others as she is to you, as corporeal and proven as the ground you walk on? Does he take comfort in the fact that Fray, the Fray _he_ knew, is resting with the Mother—or does he believe his friend to have fallen into an abyss, never to return?

Be honest with yourself; words of comfort are beyond you now. But like always, you try. Gods, you try and you try, and half the time it all goes to shite. But you’re still here. Lucky you.

“I’m sorry about Fray.”

The words ring so delicately in the open air that you are afraid he did not hear you. He does not respond to them at first, either, keeping his position like a marble idol. And then all at once he seems to stir, head bowed, and he rises to his feet. He does not look in your direction.

“And so am I,” he says. “Can’t be helped.”

You feel yourself sink. That was the wrong step, evidently. But if you want to get anywhere, you’ll have to be more open with him. So you dig deep, and do a little leap of faith.

“It feels… wrong, keeping Fray’s stone.”

Sid makes an audible noise at this, somewhere between a sharp intake of breath and his characteristic grunt. He is wide-eyed just for one moment—and then he narrows his gaze, with you in its path. And you see yourself in him, in that tone of his, his forceful and straightforward attitude. You see yourself in his aversions, in his sensitivities, in his grief.

“It’s a stone,” he says, though his heart isn’t in it. Even you can tell that, and he seems to notice too, giving up the façade as quickly as he’d constructed it. “I just… take care of it, alright? Take care of _him_.”

You nod once. He clears his throat, and excuses himself for the night.

While the sky transitions through purple and blue, you take that sharp-edged little crystal from your breast pocket and hold it in your hands. You can feel it beating under your fingers.

But can you feel me, too?


End file.
